On the Edge of Silence
by Alan G. Zendra
Summary: The D Reaper has consumed the city, and Guilmon and Takato are dragged down into the crumbling ruins, into a dilapidated park, and find Jeri there waiting for them. Only she's not the same as they remember her... [Set during later episodes in the series.


This isn't a lemon, but I bet you sure wish it was.

Lack of lemon should not equal lack of interest. However, one continues to see this trend over and over again as time passes. May it end soon, if not with this story then with the next. Let the wheel fall from its axle.

Rated M for things best left for prose to tell.

I do not own Digimon.

Enjoy. Or not. The choice is yours.

* * *

On The Edge of Silence

by agz

* * *

All things end.

All things begin.

* * *

A massive claw--a pink and purple plasmic appendage--thrust from a bubble of similar substance, folded its fingers around Gallantmon, and dragged him into the abyss. 

The scream of Sakuyamon was the last thing the Digimon heard before he was swallowed, darkness falling over his eyes, his nose, his mouth, cutting their record of input off entirely--utter sensory shutdown, the torture before the storm. Madness before malice.

"GALLANTMON!"

* * *

And that's how we ended up here.

Guilmon, keeping steady pace with Takato, found himself distracted from his task--whatever _that_ was--by the dome of shifting energy that pretended to be the sky. It was like a mass of manic clouds in somber valentine tones, twisting and turning and pulsing with some unholy life. It generated light like a dying sun: pitifully and without hope of recovery. You could see by it, but you didn't want to. Especially not with this landscape of cracking pavement and shredded street, buildings rising like mutilated oaks from the shattered soil of civilization. A forest of loss.

This was the work of the D-Reaper.

Shuddering, the red Digimon scooted a little closer to his Tamer as they walked. They were in a park, a place meant to be friendly and open. Of course, under this slimy, filthy sky, it was nothing short of terrifying. Hunks of pavement jutted up every which way, ragged gray teeth embedded in the flesh of the Earth. A bench was crushed, folded in upon itself, as if some massive foot had descended on it. A metal trashcan had grown a ragged hole in its middle; it looked like something had burst from within. These parkly elements had been completely emaciated.

The trees, on the other hand, had survived to tell their tale. They lined the path the two friends trod upon, standing tall and proud in all their green liveliness. The only thing truly unnerving about these lords of vegetation was in something they lacked: movement. There was no breeze in this place to blow between the leaves and create that rustling white noise that was so familiar to Guilmon. Their presence was equally comforting and unsettling; something so familiar, yet presented so differently.

But the trees held their own darkness.

* * *

Some things end with a beginning.

Some things begin with an ending.

* * *

"Takato." 

Takato's body jerked--not from hearing his name, but from the voice that carried it. A voice void of soul or salvation. The voice of a body without a mind with which to hope. The voice of--

"Jeri?" he said, his own voice thick and watery. "Jeri, are--"

"Oh, I'm here, Takato."

"Where?" he said, cupping his hands on either side of his mouth. "Where are you, Jeri?" He took a few steps forward, looking from left to right, seeing no sign but hunting with his eyes nonetheless. "Jeri?"

Guilmon looked as well, but with far more anxiety. He felt a chill pass through him, though there was no breeze to bring it to his flesh.

A lump of darkness detached itself from a nearby tree, passed through the shadows, and, with bare feet, stepped into the irksome light.

"I'm here."

Takato turned on his heel. "JERI!" He rushed over to her, hands instantly resting on her shoulders, rubbing into the red sweater she wore on top of her yellow dress. "Jeri, are you alright? Are you--"

He was cut off by a scream that shot into his ears and minced his drums with its piercing quality. After a few seconds of jumbled mindlessness, he realized it was Jeri who was screaming.

"What--"

"GET HIM AWAY!" she screamed, thrusting a single finger--the flesh pale and wasted--at Guilmon. Her eyes were wide and her mouth agape, the muscles in her face visibly tensing as she began to back away from the Digimon as fast as she could. She only ceased to do so when her back struck the tree from which she'd appeared.

"But...but..." Takato looked from Guilmon to Jeri, Jeri to Guilmon. "But..."

"GET HIM AWAY, OH GOD, GET HIM _AWAY_!" Her finger wavered, wobbled, then averted entirely as she pressed her face against the trunk of the tree, rubbing her fists against her cheeks. "Get him away...away...get... him..." she sobbed, shaking her head from side to side, scraping her nose against the rough bark. "Get...Takato...please... away..."

Takato's mouth opened. Then it closed. He looked hopelessly at Guilmon.

Guilmon raised a claw in understanding and made his way away from the two Tamers. He could feel Takato smiling weakly at him in relief as he departed, as well as an odd wave of indescribable emotion, the nature of which plagued him even until his friends had disappeared from sight.

* * *

It was this melancholy emotion that Guilmon found himself immersed in when he plopped down between the ruined trashcan and the shattered bench. No matter that he was deep inside what was technically enemy territory; here's a few unwanted emotions for you, Guilmon! Enjoy! 

He shuffled his feet--scattering a few shreds of silvery metal across the ground, creating a tinkling, chime-like noise. Guilmon giggled, and shuffled again, and again, and again, generating a mystical soundtrack for the dead park. It was a sound that spoke of happiness and gaiety, things once found here, but no more. Death had weaved its way into the world in the shape of pink plasma, and once its mark was made it could never be wiped away.

Guilmon, unaware and uncaring, continued to play with the steel scraps, sending them skittering one way and then another, flipping over and over across the concrete. He forgot the feelings with which he'd been so absorbed in mere seconds ago. They were for later. Now was the time for play.

So he played, and played, and played.

Even as a crow pecked at his heart.

* * *

Jeri stood stock-still as Takato hugged her, his head against her shoulder. Her face remained slack and unresponsive even as he asked if she was all right, what was she doing here, how did she get here, why was she so pale? Her body remained cold despite the attempts of the sweater to keep her warm. Her eyes... 

Her eyes, which had been, up till then, gazing mindlessly into space, snapped to the left to gaze at the back of Takato's head. Instantly she squinted and the left corner of her lip slid upwards into a sneer. Her hands rose up, up, up, and then rested on the boy's shoulders.

With a single thrust, she pushed him away.

"What!" Takato cried as he stumbled backwards, nearly falling but managing to catch his balance at the last second. "Jeri, what's wrong?"

The sneer and the squint slid silently away, quickly replaced by a look of hopeless despair: eyes downcast, mouth downturned, hopes downtrodden. Her eyes were turned slightly to the side, as if she were far too afraid (or ashamed) to look directly at Takato. Her hand--now a fist--ascended to press its fingers against her lips, the palm resting against her chin.

There. Perfect.

"I..." Jeri closed her eyes to cut off her tears, managing only to send a set of three cascading down her cheeks. "I...I'm such a...such a..." She opened her mouth to gnaw on the tips of her fingers, and sobbed through them. "I'm just...just such a..."

"Such a what, Jeri?" Takato said, slowly making his way closer and closer to her. "Such a what?"

Her eyes opened halfway and looked at him from behind a cloud of saline. Her fingers slid out of her mouth, the lips of which trembled before she spoke.

"I'm such a, a, a, such a...

"SUCH A BITCH!"

* * *

This is the end of a beginning,

and the beginning of an end.

* * *

Guilmon was jolted from his world of happy music by a soul-shaking scream that echoed brilliantly in the near-empty park. The last word was especially successful in that endeavor, repeating over and over, until it degenerated into a simple "Itch...itch...itch... ch...ch...ch...h...h...h..." that melted away into nothingness.

"Itch?" Guilmon said, tilting his head to the side. "Jeri is itchy?" He blinked, his mouth an O on his face. "Boy, I hope Takato scratches her...being itchy is no fun..."

And he went back to playing.

* * *

Takato gaped. He'd never ever heard Jeri curse before--let alone curse in reference to herself, which provided added shock to the situation.

A situation that was already getting out of hand.

Jeri was crying.

"Jeri...no...don't..." Takato moved closer and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She shrugged it off, sliding away from the boy, one hand rubbing the area just above her elbow. Her head shook from side to side in the smallest of fractions, tears trickling from the corners of her eyes, the whites already transitioning to pink.

She turned her back to him.

"Jeri..." Takato began--instantly finding himself unable to finish. What could he say at this point that could possibly help? He had no clue just what was going on, but here he was, trying to help anyway, doing the impossible. What was the point?

_I've got to try to help her, he thought, _clenching a fist._ She needs help._

He looked at her, weeping and sniffling.

I can tell that much, can't I? She needs my help, because I'm the only one here.

"Jeri, you're not a...a you-know," he said, blushing at his inability to even utter that one word. "You're...you're not mean, or anything. You're nice." He smiled uneasily. "I like you."

"How can you?" was her response, her voice so low and raspy that he had to strain to catch her words. Her back was still to him, so it appeared as though she was talking to one of the jutting chunks of concrete. "You're wrong. I'm not nice at all. I'm..._awful_."

"What makes you say that?" Takato whispered.

Jeri turned to look at him, and Takato felt his blood curdle in his veins. Her eyes...her eyes were flat and dull, and empty like her voice: lifeless, hopeless, soulless. They were so dead, yet so piercing and active. Alive without life; undead eyes.

"I'll tell you."

* * *

Guilmon lifted his claw--full of metal bits--turned it to the side, letting the pieces fall to the ground, tinkling and sparkling as they danced across the concrete, and sighed.

He did not pick the pieces back up.

It was time to get down to business.

"I like Takato," he said quietly. He tilted his ears slightly. "But what does that mean?"

He stared down at the ground, looking but not seeing, thinking but not knowing.

"What does that _mean_?"

* * *

The end is but a beginning.

The beginning is but an end.

* * *

"When my real mother died, I swore I wouldn't let anyone take her place. When my new stepmother came..." Jeri closed her eyes and bit her lip. "She wanted to be my friend...but...but I never gave her a chance...never...never..." She looked despondently at the sockpuppet her left hand was wrapped in, the fingers inside rubbing against one another, making it look like the puppet was chewing, or gnawing, or--

--_biting it looks like biting_--

--nibbling.

Jeri continued. "And with Leomon...I was always trying to be the best Tamer...better than you, or Henry, or Rika, or anybody...I was selfish, so selfish..." She gazed on at Takato. "Why are you shaking your head?"

Takato pressed a hand against his forehead and gritted his teeth. He parted them only enough to speak. "Because...you're beating yourself up for nothing."

She blinked. "What do you mean?"

"I mean..." He looked into her eyes, doing his best to keep his voice from quavering, and said, "...I mean that you aren't selfish, you never were. You loved Leomon, and you'd nev--"

"LOVE!" In a flash she was in front him, her face in his, her eyes--dead, yes, but somehow wide and angry as well--glaring into his own. "LOVE! Who are YOU to talk to me about LOVE!" She moved until her chest was right up against his, and her breath poured down on his face in waves.

Takato backed up--it seemed like he'd be doing a lot of that around his friend right now--startled. "I--OOF!" He backed up further, propelled by Jeri's finger, which tented the face of the sockpuppet. It looked as though some monstrous horn was about to erupt from its upper lip.

"WHO are YOU!" she shrieked, jabbing him again--in the chest, in the exact same spot as before, so hard it hurt. "YOU, who doesn't even KNOW he's in love! How can YOU talk to ME about love! _HOW!"_

"What--" He was cut off again, and this time there was a tiny ripping noise as Jeri's jabbing finger split the seam and thrust through, appearing as if by magic.

Takato felt the finger leave his chest, took in a deep breath, closed his eyes, and waited for the next impact.

It came, but it was hardly more than a poke. He opened one eye, and then the other, and watched hopelessly as Jeri cried, her finger jutting weakling from the ruined face of the puppet.

"Jeri..." _What are you talking about, what do you mean, how am I in love? With who?_ His mind tried to wrap itself around her words, but only managed in tying itself up. "Don't cry..." he muttered. It was the only thing that came to mind.

"Why shouldn't I?" she said between tears. "I loved, and lost. Leomon...he was my first...my _only_ love...and he's _dead_. Why shouldn't I cry?" She drew in a long, congested breath through her nose, pulling a running line of mucus off her upper lip and back where it belonged. "I've got nothing anymore, _nothing_. Without Leomon there is NOTHING, do you hear me! _I_ am nothing. The rest of my life would be a waste because Leomon wouldn't be there.

"Tell me, Takato. Tell me why I shouldn't cry."

Sweat dripped down Takato's forehead. Red light, deadly and blinding, rimmed his vision in a heady corona, limiting his sight to a scant oval. His mind seemed to fill with its own red light, clogging up with it, feeling it burn into his brain stem. It was not unlike salt in a wound, pervading and scalding. He wiped feebly at the sweat, managing only to spread it even further across his skin.

Even through this vicious assault on his sight and synapses, Takato strove to deduct (or concoct, whichever it took) some kind of answer. He stumbled blindly through his mind, searching frantically, fervently, frenetically, running through a jungle of hazy confusion.

In the end...

"I can't." He shook his head, sending sweat flipping away in all directions. "I can't."

The finger instantly restored whatever pressure it had lost, and Takato was suddenly on his back on the ground, looking up at Jeri, who was no longer crying, only grinning, one side of her mouth raised higher than the other, her eyes running along the very bottom of her lids, brows raised. She looked ugly, she looked angry, she looked gleeful, she looked--

--VICTORIOUS.

"HA!"

* * *

"I like Takato, and that means...that means...oh, what _does_ that mean?" Guilmon kicked the trashcan in frustration and began to pace. "Does it mean...He's my friend?" He stopped, scratched at his chin, and nodded. "Sure, sure it does. He's always been my friend." He grinned. "Yeeaaaaaaaaaah, Takato's always my friend!"

But you care for him far too much for it to be friendship, sang a little lilting voice in his ear. _It must be love._

sang a little lilting voice in his ear. 

"Love?" Guilmon blinked. "Who said that?"

No answer. He shifted, paced a little, stopped, looked around, and shifted some more.

"Love..." he murmured.

The pacing resumed.

What _was _love, anyway? Just an extension of friendship, or something else entirely? Was it a funny feeling in your gut, or a tingling in your mouth? Could you smell it, taste it, see it or hear it? Did it make you shake all over? Was it scary and pleasant at the same time? Was it powerfully present, forever obvious, or was it quiet and subtle?

Did it pick at you when you knew it was there but did nothing about it?

The answer is All of the Above, and More. It was so, so much more.

Love is when you care about someone enough to die for them.

Guilmon's eyes widened.

* * *

Thus, a beginning.

* * *

"Ahhhhhhhhhhh, Takato..." Jeri drawled, and in Takato's mind (it had to be in there, and only there, because there was no way it could be how she really sounded) her voice took on an echoing quality. It made her sound as though she were speaking from inside a tin can just her size; just a little extra reverb and some mild metallic tones pinned onto her normally sweet voice.

"Takato, Takato, Takato..." She tossed her on-the-side-and-near-the-top ponytail and laughed. "Takato, you _fool_...

"You think I can't see it in your face? Your thoughts betray you. Your fears will be your downfall..." She giggled shrilly, and Takato was suddenly aware of the aura of reddish-purple-pink hanging around her like scent visualized. It curled and shifted, a thick, colored smoke drifting around her body. A streamer of it passed by her face, spiraled right in front of her eye, and zipped away.

"Jeri, what are you..." He watched the streamer's progress with wide eyes. "Jeri...what did they do to you...?"

She seemed not to hear him. "I see it now. You bring Guilmon in here, the only place I've been able to get any peace, any rest, any _relief_, to _taunt_ me, right? Isn't that right, Goggleboy?"

"No...I'd never..." His head fell back onto the ground and began to toss from side to side. "Never..."

"LIES," Jeri bellowed, only it wasn't Jeri anymore, it hadn't been Jeri to begin with. Takato's mind was clear on this, at least. The world would spin around him and burn at the edges, but realizing that his distraught friend was not who she appeared to be was crystal clear.

"You..." He writhed on the ground, his eyes rolling up to show whites, his back arching, then inverting, then arching again, making him flop like a fish. "YOU..." he groaned, even as his mind was lost.

"Yes, me." She grinned, and the skin at the edges of her lips cracked, sending flakes of flesh into the air. "ME. I know the truth and you do not. I know who you hate, and who you love." She stepped closer, and the flesh of her knees formed strange cracks at right angles. "_Especially_ who you love.

"You still haven't told him, have you? He still hasn't heard you say it. You keep it from him because you don't know how it will make others feel, because you know further that he will share your sentiments, and you will fall deeper into love than you already are. And you know--more like _think, _more like _fret--_even _further_ that if you don't let it out, you will explode, and expire, and then what will become of Guilmon, hm? What will become of a love so boundless that it doesn't even need words to define it, only a look or a touch?

"He knows now. I've told him for you." When his only response was a pained groan, she nudged him with her foot. "You should be grateful, because now you won't explode."

She sneered. "You and your love. It's always been there, ever since you first sketched him. It hasn't ever faded.

"And neither has his, come to think of it."

Takato writhed on the ground, only half-aware of anything anymore, but still able to comprehend this monster's words. Some part of his mind told him that the creature controlled him now, that his mind was in its hands, it could make him hear what it wanted to. And another denied this, while another considered it, and yet another feigned ignorance on the subject.

And another part jumped for joy.

Guilmon loves me he does love me I love him he

Jeri grabbed Takato by the shirt with her bare hand, and easily pulled him up into the air. His feet dangled a good eleven inches off the ground. His head lolled back, eyes rolling and tongue flailing.

"No more thinking for you-_ooooooooou_."

Takato's mind struggled free, taking control of his mouth for just the barest of seconds, managing only to shriek:

"NO!"

* * *

"NO!" A wild cry. A horrible notion, passing through Guilmon's mind. Flashes of blood and violence.

"--Takato!"

He turned, and was off.

* * *

The end is near.

* * *

Guilmon charged across the pavement, feet pounding into it, cracking it in places. His head was held down low and his claws were positioned to the left and the right of his head. Claw, jaws, claw. The Digital Monster One-Two-Three Combo.

His charge came to a sudden conclusion when something pink and drippy flew past his face, making him skid to a halt. It missed him by maybe two inches and went by too quickly to see properly; the Digimon had been too stunned to try and catch it.

It landed with a splash in the nearby bushes, splattering the leaves with thick reddish liquid, making a sickly plopping noise as it impacted somewhere beneath the vegetation.

The leaves wavered, stilled, and then all was quiet.

Guilmon stood there, staring at the scarlet substance on those green leaves, unable to decide whether it was D-Reaper plasma or freshly-spilt blood. If it was the former, then what had flown past was a hunk of D-Reaper body. If it was the latter...

No.

He turned to face the direction from which the thing had flown in from. A trail of crimson slime pointed the way, stretching from the bushes, across the concrete, and to an as-yet-unseen terminus. A gruesome take on the Hansel and Gretel technique.

Guilmon followed the trail.

* * *

The line of liquid continued for a good ten feet, the splatters interspersed or accompanied by slimy hunks of _something. _Guilmon did his best not to step in any of it, but failed more than once and, looking back, saw that large parts of the trail had been smeared by his feet. He felt his stomach twist at the thought of all that slime soaking into his skin.

Looking ahead once again, he found himself completely and utterly paralyzed by fear. What had happened to Takato and Jeri? The place they'd been when he'd left was now deserted, the path of gooey liquid cutting through it like a horrid river, pressing on to the spot where Guilmon stood.

Here, it had ended abruptly, fusing with a growing puddle of goo that had built up in a gutter. Above the gutter stood another patch of bushes and trees, sprays of the stuff marring the green perfection. A lump laid in the middle of the puddle, an island in a sea of ichor.

Where now? he mused, gazing around nervously. His body was tense with fear and anger, both emotions warring for control of his mind. _Something happened here, someone was injured,-- _

--killed_-- _

--I don't know who, and now Jeri and Takato are gone.

Where did they go

he mused, gazing around nervously. His body was tense with fear and anger, both emotions warring for control of his mind. killedgo 

"_Guil_-mon!"

The Digimon jumped and whipped around to face the speaker. He relaxed when he saw it was Jeri. She was behind the patch of bushes and trees. Only her head and shoulders were visible from where he stood. "Jeri! What happened? Where's Takato?"

She smiled at him cutely. "He's right here. Come see, Guilmon." She gave him a "come hither" gesture, her smile never shaking from her face.

He nodded, stepped into the bushes, then out of them onto the other side.

Once there, he gaped.

Takato lay on his back on the ground. His arms were splayed on either side of his body, the fingers of both hands curled grotesquely over his palms. His legs were knock-kneed, one foot twisted so far around it was almost backwards. His head was slightly turned to the side, eyes all whites. His tongue hung out of his mouth like a dead leech.

His skin was pale. His chest was motionless. But most of all, there was a gaping hole where his stomach was supposed to be.

He was dead.

Guilmon's throat dried up. Suddenly his upper body seemed heavy, far too heavy to support, and he fell onto his knees, one claw going out to keep himself from kissing the pavement. His eyes bugged as he looked upon his--

--_love's_--

--friend's body. He was completely unable to look away from Takato's face, once so full of life. They'd done their Matrix Evolution not half an hour ago, hadn't they? They'd been one being, human within Digimon. Now they'd never get to do it ever again.

I'll never get to tell him I loved him...

"See?" Jeri said, grinning. "He's right here." She giggled, and giggled, and giggled, until she had to put her hand to her mouth to stop herself. "Right here, Guilmon, right here..."

"What...happened...?" he croaked.

Jeri snickered. "I was hungry."

Guilmon's head snapped around to look at her. "What?"

Jeri just smiled at him. "I was hungry. I had to have a snack." Before he could respond to this, she turned away from him and thrust both of her hands into Takato's open abdomen. Squishing, squelching, ripping sounds filled Guilmon's ears, and jets of blood shot wildly from the boy's body, spraying Jeri's face, hands, and clothes. One shot directly into her eye, making her blink, but otherwise she didn't seem to notice as she continued to mutilate his insides with her hands.

"Ah!" she exclaimed. She set one bloody hand on Takato's chest, staining his blue shirt reddish-purple, and yanked with the other. Takato's body jerked upwards, limbs flailing like a puppet's. Jeri made a face and yanked again, and the body jerked, then fell back to the ground. She sighed happily. "Got it!" She turned back to the stunned Digimon and thrust her hand at him. "Want some?"

Guilmon's eyes went from her face to her hand. It was the one with the sockpuppet on it, but Jeri's efforts to consume Takato had taken its toll: it was orangish-red and covered in blood-soaked patches. One of its button eyes was gone, and the left ear had a tattered hole in it. Her fingers and thumb were wedged between the seams of its mouth, looking like long, fleshy teeth protruding from the gums like knives.

Gripped in those finger-teeth was Takato's liver.

Guilmon threw up.

Jeri pouted. "Not hungry?" She shrugged. "More for me!" And with that she shoved the whole thing into her mouth and began to gnaw on it wildly. Shreds of it sprang into the air, thrown by her tongue and teeth. She groaned almost orgasmically as, bit by bit, she swallowed the raw meat. "Mmm..." She gnawed some more, and blue wings sprouted from her back, stretching fully, then folding up. "This meat brings out the best in me..." She guffawed around the organ.

Guilmon stared at the puddle of vomit on the ground, seeing none of Jeri's developments but hearing all her words, all the vile sounds, and those alone were enough to make him want to throw up again.

She killed him she killed him she killed him--

--Takato, no!--

--she killed him she killed him she killed him--

--Takato I loved you--

--she killed him--

--she KILLED HIM--

--I'LL _kill _HER.

I'LL HER. 

"Would you like a kidney?"

He lunged at her.

* * *

There was no beginning.

* * *

The End

* * *

Dedicated To:

Anyone Who Managed To Actually Sit There And Read It All

HUGE (I mean, HUGE) Thanks Go To:

NekoDramon

Without Whom This Would Not Have Been Possible

(it's your decision whether his help was worthwhile or not)

Apologies Go To:

Anyone Who Managed To Actually Sit There And Read It All

And Thought It Really Sucked

(I tried, I really did)

Author's Notes:

This story replaces the events in episodes 45-46 of Season 3 (Tamers), where Gallantmon is pulled into the D-Reaper's realm, runs out of energy, and reverts back into Guilmon and Takato. In the realm they meet one of the Jeri clones in the park, whom Takato thinks is the real Jeri. The clone proceeds to mindfuck Takato while Guilmon tries to snap his friend out of it.

(Above information provided by NekoDramon. The author has only seen a grand total of three Tamers episodes, and needed lots of information to be successful in concocting this story. Neko receives full thanks. I'm sure he's tired of hearing that, but...;)

Title was the first thing I came up with (as is the tendency with my works). Its meaning is yours to determine.

The second thing I came up with was a list of all the little references to ends and beginnings that I sprinkled between scenes. There's a joke inherent in them, but I ain't telling.

The third thing I came up with was everything else--all the prose was concocted on the fly. The story had been semi-thought out prior to the actual writing, but nothing was really concrete until my fingers touched the keys.

And those keys have taken quite the beating. This story was the product of about a week's worth of writing (a VERY short period indeed, considering my normal writing rates). I started out very calm and lucid, and then I got around to realizing that, if I didn't get my ass in gear, I wasn't going to make it. This explains why, after about the third page break, things started to get a little crazy.

Fuel provided by Jumex and Chex Mix. Yes, lots of X's. Three of them, in fact. XXX.

...whoa. OO

Blood and gore provided by my twisted mind. If the image of Jeri's fingers sticking out of that sockpuppet (or any of the other scenes) gives anyone nightmares, please don't sue. I need all my money to buy DVDs. LOTS of DVDs. huggles his DVD collection :P

Aforementioned gore was aided and abetted by the Silent Hill 3 Official soundtrack (which I am going to have to wean myself off of, now). Thanks go to Gohan (he knows who he is) for letting me, ahem, "acquire" it. It supplied both haunting sounds to inspire anger and rage, and melodic tones to supply far deeper and complex emotions. Quite enjoyable.

(one more note on music, for it tends to influence my thoughts more than anything else during writing: Tool's Lateralus (which I had to blow dust off before I could play) is good for writing dark stories, but it'll give you a headache if you listen to it over and over again, and will really screw you up when you write. OO)

Enough of this musical review. It's time I finished these bloody notes.

On a side note: this story tied with Lord Archive's "Courage" in Kharon Alpha's October 2003 Contest.

In conclusion, all in all, in the end, and all the rest of those cliché beginnings for endings of things, I have learned many things while writing this.

1) Writing for contests at the last minute can be hazardous for one's mental, physical, and emotional health. I don't plan to be drawn into another contest, but I'm sure that I will, one of these days, despite my new knowledge.

2) I can write something from secondhand information. What a relief. I thought I was completely retarded otherwise!

3) I have to write with the lights on anymore. OO

4) I actually enjoyed myself.

5) Considering number four, I have concluded that I must be a masochist.

And good day.

agz

- End Author's Notes -

* * *

I want a cup that overflows with love

Although,

It's not enough to fill my heart.

I want a barrel full of love

Although, I know

It's not enough to fill my heart.

I want a river full of love

Again, I know

The holes will still remain

I need an ocean full of love

Although, I know

The holes will still remain

**-- "I want love"; Silent Hill 3 Official Soundtrack**

Cause I'm losing my sight

Losing my mind

Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine

Losing my sight

Losing my mind

Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine

NOTHING's all right

NOTHING is fine

**-- "Last Resort" by Papa Roach**


End file.
